


InSecurity

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Competence Kink, Enemies to Lovers, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Older Jensen Ackles, Young Jared Padalecki, everyone is canadian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Along with Jensen's new title of 'Unit Leader' came a better parking spot, a significant raise, and a fancy new office from which he could arrange secret missions and watch his team (his own team! Filling out their own paperwork in triplicate!) from behind floor-to-ceiling walls of metal and glass.Jensen had everything else. Getting a nemesis was the obvious next step.





	InSecurity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dugindeep (hotsauce)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/gifts).



> Based very loosely on the Canadian show, **InSecurity** , which was so adorable, I didn't even finish the episode this was based on before I started writing. No need to watch the show - the agency and all scenarios the agents face are entirely made up (or come from the show)! Think of it as the Canadian Spy version of Brooklyn 99.
> 
> Also written (and posted very belatedly) for dugindeep's BIRTHDAY! I'm so sorry this is late, but YOU KNOW WHY. LOL. I tried to get all kinds of things you enjoy into this, I'm sure you can tell :P
> 
> Thanks to Milana/theatregirl7299 for the super-speedy beta! ♥

Jensen Ackles deserved a nemesis.

Don’t laugh. It was true.

(They still laughed.)

Recruited straight out of UBC, Jensen found himself riding the fast-track at the National Intelligence and Security Administration’s Vancouver Operations Center. From analyst to field agent to deputy unit leader, Jensen followed every order, completed every menial task, and filled out paperwork in triplicate just to get ahead.

Now he was a Unit Leader at only 34 years old. Along with the title came a better parking spot, a significant raise, and a fancy new office from which he could watch his team (his own team! Filling out their own paperwork in triplicate!) behind floor-to-ceiling walls of metal and glass.

He had everything else. Getting a nemesis was the obvious next step. Based on his shiny new job title, Jensen thought he deserved a really good one.

Perhaps he would match wits with a master of impersonation, pursuing him across Canada and foiling his assassination attempts. Or, maybe Jensen would foil the same brilliant hacker over and over, stopping he or she just in time to prevent a major cyber catastrophe. He might even do battle with an international thief attempting to sell Canada’s secrets to the highest bidder.

They were all good possibilities. The problem was, Jensen lacked patience. He’d climbed the spy-ladder so quickly, he assumed he’d probably have a nemesis just waiting for him at the top.

“You’ll get a nemesis eventually,” Tahmoh told him while they waited for lunch to be delivered. It was Taco Mart Tuesday, after all. “It has to happen naturally, Jensen. You can’t force these things.”

Which was well and good for his agent (and best friend) to say, but Tahmoh already had a nemesis. Some MI6 agent he met years ago while trying to take down a corrupt South American politician. The Brits had sent their own force, and Tahmoh ended up fighting his nemesis when only one nation could take credit for the mission’s success. Tahmoh won that round, but when he met his blue-eyed nemesis in Cairo sixteen months later, the tables had turned.

Every time Tahmoh talked about Cairo (or the Philippines, or Argentina, or that one ridiculous time in Tortola), Jensen wanted to puke.

“You’re still young,” Tahmoh reassured him. “You have plenty of time to find your nemesis.”

Jensen ignored him in favor of grabbing the only two chicken tacos that were delivered. Let Tahmoh’s stomach deal with Taco Mart’s questionable beef this time around.

He coordinated mission after mission, hoping his nemesis would be revealed. Interrogated suspects and known criminals, just waiting for a proper adversary. The longer he worked, the more Jensen began to feel like maybe he wasn’t meant to find his match. Some agents worked their entire careers without a nemesis, and they did alright.

Right?

“What do you need a nemesis for anyway?” Harris asked without looking up from her screen, where the results of her latest experiment were scrolling faster than Jensen could read. “I don’t have a nemesis, and I’m a great agent.”

While technically true (Danneel Harris was the best lab researcher at N.I.S.A.-Vancouver, and possessed a wicked right-cross), Jensen was certain she could have any nemesis she wanted. If she stopped antagonizing other agents, that was. More than half of the facility’s staff were terrified of her, including senior agents. And the Deputy Director.

No wonder Harris always managed to score new equipment for the team’s lab. She didn’t need a single nemesis—the world was her nemesis.

Jensen was so jealous.

On stakeouts, Jensen peered through his binoculars wondering if the target would prove to be enough of a challenge (after all, he wanted a competent nemesis). He rewatched surveillance footage, waiting and hoping. Still, no one was smart enough, clever enough, despicable enough to be Jensen’s nemesis.

Maybe he was destined to be one of those agents left with nothing at the end of his career besides a box full of medals and commendations, and nothing else.

Unless he had a cat, too.

~~~~~

“Ackles!” Deputy Director Mark Sheppard stood outside Jensen’s office. Sighing, Jensen closed his laptop and walked over.

“Got a mission for us, sir?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Sheppard asked. “I don’t actually like leaving the sixth floor, you know. You don’t even have smoothies down here.”

Jensen blinked. “You get smoothies upstairs?”

“Forget I said anything.” Sheppard thrust a folder into Jensen’s hand. “The director wants your unit in on this counterterrorism operation. We’ve got intel that a cell might try to smuggle weapons in through the Port of Vancouver.”

Sounded high profile. Jensen started scanning through the folder’s contents.

He frowned at what he read. “It says we’re getting a consultant?”

“You bet, and a damn good one,” Sheppard tells Jensen’s team. 

Danneel looked indifferent, but Jensen assumed she was working on a plan to make the consultant afraid of her, too. Tahmoh was probably thinking how to work Cairo into a conversation with whoever the consultant might turn out to be. Sebastian Roche, their analyst, hadn’t ended his phone call when Sheppard walked in, and Felicia Day, their systems tech (and munitions expert, oddly enough), had probably already hacked into N.I.S.A.’s files to download the consultant’s dossier.

“Padalecki’s the senior analyst up in Counter Terrorism & Security,” Sheppard informed them. “He’s really making a name for himself. Prime Minister called him personally last week to thank him for preventing the attack in Toronto.”

Jensen rolled his eyes when Sheppard turned his back. Just what he needed: an entrenched CTI analyst stepping on the shoulders of his team in order to climb the ranks. Maybe this guy had his eye on a Ministry position.

“He’ll be down later,” Sheppard said, “so you’d all better be ready. We don’t want CTI to think we can’t keep up with one of their own. Bunch of high and mighty, sanctimonious…”

Fortunately, Jensen was spared hearing any more as Sheppard walked out.

Everyone knew Counter Terrorism & Security was the Director’s favorite department. Their floor had the best gym, and their last department retreat was in Las Vegas.

Sheppard had taken Jensen’s team to an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet. Still, it was the thought that counted.

In his office, Jensen read through the mission parameters twice before he began to work up his own operational plan. He vowed to be ready when Padalecki waltzed in. He even put on the steel blue tie he kept in his desk for meetings with high-ranking officials and ministers and checked his reflection: neat, ordered, and perfectly professional.

His door opened with a near silent swoosh.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

Jensen looked up from his report. And up, and up, until he met the bright, hazel eyes of a young man. His expression said ‘eager,’ while his age and clothing choices said, ‘intern.’

“Check in is downstairs,” Jensen told him, friendly smile in place. “And, just so you know, in the future, you may want to come to work wearing something a tad more professional.”

The young man stared. “Check in?”

“It’s for all the interns, don’t worry.”

“But I—”

Jensen sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy, and I don’t really have the time to hold your hand today. I have a meeting to prepare for, and I’d like to—”

“With me.” The young man cut Jensen off, though he did so while flashing a megawatt grin. “I’m pretty sure your meeting is with me, I mean. My name is Jared Padalecki, senior counterterrorism analyst. We can get right to work, since you’re clearly busy, although the hand-holding sounded pretty promising.”

He smirked. The damn bastard just smirked at Jensen in his own office, all while standing there in a gray t-shirt, navy blue cardigan that any grandfather would be proud to own, dark, slim-cut khakis, and a pair of beat up Converse tennis shoes.

The only thing Jensen could ask was, “How old are you?” 

Jared laughed and raised one long-fingered hand to brush a wave of chocolate brown hair away from his eyes. 

“Pretty sure that’s irrelevant…”

Jensen glared harder.

“Twenty-four,” Jared admitted. As Jensen was about to open his mouth, he continued, “And right now is probably a good time to remind you that this is my operation, so…”

“So.”

Jared pointed to one of the chairs facing Jensen’s desk. “Should I sit?”

Jensen nodded, forced to stare as Jared pulled a sleek, chrome laptop from his shabby messenger bag. The machine made Jensen’s computer look like a technological dinosaur.

“Like it?” Jared asked, mistaking Jensen’s envy for interest. “Built it myself. I needed extra memory for some of the programs I designed to monitor the surveillance networks.”

“Impressive,” Jensen grumbled. That earned him another smile, unfortunately.

Jared got straight down to business, and if Jensen had to ask him to repeat one or two points because he was too busy moping, he figured no one else needed to know.

~~~~~

“Twenty-four,” Jensen sobbed. “He’s twenty-four, Tahmoh!”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Tahmoh said, passing over a packet of sugar, which Jensen ignored. He went back to fixing his own coffee. “He seems like an alright guy. A little on the young side, yeah, but that means he must be really good at what he does.”

Jensen reminded himself that Tahmoh was still his best friend, even if he couldn’t see the obvious in this case.

“He had a energy drink!” Jensen groaned, referring to the briefing Jared conducted earlier. “He called security at Vancouver’s port, ‘shady AF.’ I had to look up what that meant!”

“It means, ‘shady as f—”

“I know that now!” Jensen lamented. “And then he started to go on and on about whitewater kayaking. For fun. I mean, give me a break. Right?”

Tahmoh smiled fondly. “You know, I once had to kayak a particularly rough river trying to escape a mark’s security force. I remember Bamber was there, and—”

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God, if you start talking about your British nemesis right now, so help me, I will end your life with this.”

He held up the wooden coffee stirrer. Tahmoh swallowed, the point made. Jensen sipped his coffee in blessed silence, until Tahmoh dared to speak up again.

“I think working with CTI could be good,” he began carefully. “If it goes well, maybe they’ll bring us into more ops.”

Jensen scoffed. “I hope they leave us alone when this is over. I don’t need any of you thinking it’s okay to come to work in nerd shirts.”

Tahmoh smirked. “I think he looked pretty good.”

Cursing under his breath, Jensen held up the coffee stirrer.

Tahmoh laughed, undeterred.

“Maybe they’ll let us use their gym.”

Jensen groaned and walked out.

~~~~~

In spite of Jensen glaring at Jared whenever they were in a room together, the mission went off without a hitch. His unit took orders from the senior terrorism analyst as if they were coming from Jensen himself. In the end, N.I.S.A. managed to confiscate a shipping container full of weapons, as well as work up a list of potential suspects that could be tied to the same cell.

A success all around, and Jensen can’t say no when his agents demand a night out to celebrate.

“Jared wants to come, too,” Felicia told Jensen post-debrief as they left the conference room. “He said he’d meet us at Cross & Eagle.”

“Doesn’t really seem like Agent Padalecki’s kind of place,” Jensen muttered.

“He said we could pick the place, and that he’d buy the first round.”

Jared is a Level 9 agent, meaning he earned a higher salary than Jensen’s Level 7.

He wondered what drink would be the most expensive.

~~~~~

“A triple daiquiri?” Jared laughed, throwing his head back. Hair brushing Jensen’s cheek in the most obnoxious way. “I don’t even know what that is.”

Neither did Jensen, and it tasted horrible (the three kinds of rum would wreak havoc on Jensen later, no doubt), but he vowed to drink it anyway as long as Jared was paying.

“This place is kind of mellow,” Jared went on. “I’ve never been.”

“A lot of agents come here,” Jensen said. Which, while technically true, wasn’t the main reason his team liked this pub. Morgan seemed to be the only bartender in Vancouver who wasn’t afraid of Danneel. Coming here made nights out go a lot smoother.

“Your team was great today,” Jared said, thumbs slipping through the condensation around his bottled beer.

“They’re great every day,” Jensen defended, instincts flaring whenever someone commented on his unit’s performance.

Jared held up a hand. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just the guys back at CTI figured I was in for a hassle for involving a team from Field Ops., and that wasn’t the case. I think they were just letting the rivalry get to them. Today’s outcome was better than I expected, results-wise.”

“You knew exactly where the targets would be,” Jensen reminded him, remembering how impressed he was with Jared’s ability to compile intel. If Jared were ten years older, and not nearly as much of a show-off, Jensen might have considered it kind of sexy.

But it definitely wasn’t.

Because there was a decade between them, and Jared was cocky in ways Jensen never even knew were possible. Ergo, Jared’s obvious analytical competence could not be sexy.

It was a pity.

“You’re bored,” Jensen stated some time later, the triple daiquiri sitting, melted and ignored, at Jensen’s elbow in favor of a bottle of beer like the one Jared was holding.

“Nah,” Jared said.

“Admit it.”

“This place…” Jared looked around. No conversation rose above the nameless classic rock ambience. Groups that came together, stuck together. The Cross & Eagle wasn’t a place you came to socialize. “It’s just kind of dull.”

“I like dull.”

That wasn’t what Jensen meant to say. He couldn’t help sounding like an old curmudgeon around Jared, that was all.

“I mean, it’s not that bad.”

“I thought your team wanted to celebrate,” Jared pointed out. At some point, he’d rolled up the sleeves of his never-buttoned button-down shirt, revealing tanned forearms. Must be from all that time spent whitewater kayaking in the sun.

“They did. This is what we do. We have a drink together, then go off and do our own things.”

As if on cue, one by one, Jensen’s team began leaving. Sebastian had a date, obviously, and Tahmoh wanted to get an early start at the gym tomorrow morning (now that Jared told him he was welcome at the CTI facility anytime). Felicia had a date as well, only hers was for something called LARPing.

When Jensen asked, Jared patted him on the shoulder and said he’d explain later.

And Danneel, well. Jensen really didn’t want to know where Danneel went. If she disappeared, it was for a good reason.

“Go on then. What’s your excuse?”

Jensen set his beer on the bar and looked over. Jared was watching him with a smile that was difficult to decipher. 

“My excuse?”

“Admit it,” Jared said. “You were about to make up some lame reason as to why you have to leave. What could it be—let me think. You need to feed your cats?”

“I don’t have pets,” Jensen muttered.

“You want to rewrite your reports. Or, you want to reread the employee handbook. I’ll tell you now, they never update those things.”

“What if I told you I was tired?”

“After what we pulled off today?” Jared exclaimed, no doubt disturbing some of the agents who’d come to the pub to drown their misery in a pint. “Come on, Jensen, the adrenaline can’t have worn off yet.”

“I don’t go out looking to burn off adrenaline after a mission,” Jensen told him. “That’s not my style.”

Jared smirked, and Jensen finally saw it for the weapon it was.

“Such an old man. Begging off a night of fun so that he can hit the hay.”

“I’m not old.”

“Too old to have fun?” Jared mocked. “You can’t ditch me now, Jensen. I was promised a celebration, and this place doesn’t measure up. Come on, my treat?”

The manipulation worked; Jared was good. Hackles raised, Jensen was going to show this guy just how seriously the youngest unit leader in N.I.S.A. history could party.

“You’d better be paying, Level 9.”

Jared grabbed his wallet, threw a handful of bills on the bar for Morgan, and pulled Jensen by the arm.

“Don’t be such a grump, Jensen. It’s not a good look on such a pretty face.”

~~~~~

Music. Horrifically loud music, and way too much shouting. Bodies pressed together, nowhere to go but closer.

Drinks. A lot of drinks. Something fruity, chased with beer. Swallow and repeat.

Laughing. At their predicament, at other people, at the music.

And Jared. Jared was everywhere.

Of all the things Jensen could barely remember about the rest of his night, he thought the last one might be the best.

~~~~~

“Whoa.”

Danneel stopped in her tracks the moment Jensen walked into her lab. She’s holding a tube of something green and smoking.

“You are seriously hung over.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Jensen replied with a wince. 

“I have a cure for that,” she said, holding the test tube in one hand while sidling her way to the lab’s refrigerator and pulling out a foil wrapped package. She set it down in front of Jensen.

“Something you worked up in an experiment?” Jensen asked, touching the foil carefully. Danneel’s experiments tended to be volatile, at best.

“Even better.”

Holding his breath, Jensen began unwrapping the foil. When he saw what it contained, his stomach executed an unpleasant somersault.

“A burrito?”

“A Taco Mart breakfast burrito,” she clarified. “Just eat it.”

More afraid of what she would do to him if he didn’t comply, Jensen took a hesitant bite and swallowed. And waited for the sickness to take over.

But the sickness never came. Instead, his stomach accepted the fried offering and began to settle.

“You’re a goddess,” he told Danneel around another mouthful.

Her lips were flat when she responded, “I know. Now finish that somewhere else.”

Back in his office, Jensen slumped at his desk and wondered where everything went wrong. He was a spy, a team leader. He shouldn’t have let himself be goaded into drinking competitions with cocksure counterterrorism analysts. No matter how frustratingly handsome they might be.

He couldn’t even imagine what Jared thought of him now.

“Damn, boss.”

Tahmoh walked in without knocking.

“Don’t tell me how hung over I look,” Jensen warned, “or you’ll be on night surveillance in Saskatchewan for the next month.”

“I wasn’t—” Tahmoh thought better of it and stopped. He changed tactics. “Can I get you anything?”

A younger body, or a time machine. Barring either of those, Jensen would take a new position on the other side of Canada: one where he was less likely to run into any more fresh-faced agents.

“Coffee,” was what he managed to say. “Just coffee.”

Tahmoh nodded. “Coming right up.”

Taking a deep breath, Jensen hunched over his desk. Danneel’s burrito worked wonders on his stomach, but his head was pounding and his muscles felt dull and heavy, like wet rags. 

His door opened again, and Jensen sighed, at the very least looking forward to the shot of caffeine. 

“It better be a big one,” he grumbled into the surface of his desk.

“You didn’t have a problem with its size last night.”

Jensen stopped breathing. He needed to look into open N.I.S.A. posts in Nova Scotia as soon as possible.

Looking up, he found Jared smiling at him from across the room. Worse than the fact that he was standing here in Jensen’s office, was the fact that he was here looking like _that_. Refreshed, casual, and confident. Bright-eyed, like he hadn’t consumed enough alcohol to kill a smaller human the night before.

“What are you doing here?” Jensen asked, ignoring Jared’s highly inappropriate (yet highly accurate) comment.

Smile never dimming, Jared said, “Just wanted to stop by, you know…”

Jensen didn’t, and stayed silent, staring until Jared went on.

“It’s just that you were gone when I got out of the shower this morning.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Jensen lied. Already embarrassed, he didn’t want to see the expression on Jared’s face when he saw Jensen post-drunken haze. Better to make a strategic retreat than face Jared trying to let Jensen down easily.

Jared stepped further into the glass-walled room. His appearance was annoyingly put together, unlike Jensen who came straight to the N.I.S.A. to use the locker room shower and change into the spare suit he kept in his office. Jared wore slim-fitting dark jeans, navy blue t-shirt worn under a white shirt with a subtle indigo pattern. His hair looked clean and soft, and Jensen experienced a brief flash of sliding his fingers through it, tightening his grip to pull Jared further onto his…

Ugh. Jensen couldn’t think about any of that.

“Also, I—um.” A rare falter from Jared, usually nothing but professional in N.I.S.A. offices. “You left your wallet at my place.”

He pulled the wallet from his back pocket and laid it on Jensen’s desk.

“Appreciate it.”

Jared hesitated. “Do you think we should talk about—”

Jensen cut him off before his face could get any redder. “It was a mistake, Jared.”

“Having those last few drinks?” Jared chuckled. “Yeah, probably, but we made up for that.”

“I meant all of it, Jared.”

“Oh.” Oddly enough, Jared’s face falls. Jensen was an expert on reading tough situations, but he had no idea what Jared was thinking.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Jensen pointed out. “We work for the same agency, so I’m sure we can handle this professionally.”

He wanted to end it there. Given how weak he felt, physically and emotionally, Jensen wouldn’t survive being forced to listen to Jared say that last night only happened out of pity.

Jared’s mouth fell flat, hazel eyes blank. “Fine, if that’s what you think.”

For a few seconds, Jensen actually thought that was it. Jared started to walk away, and Jensen absolutely did not let his eyes drop to what he knew was a firm ass, perfect for biting. Jared made it to the door before he turned around, eyes no longer blank, but blazing.

“You want to know what I think, Jensen?” he said, fists clenched. “I think you can’t see beyond your position, your work. You’re so focused on putting on the perfect performance, doing what’s expected of you. Never living outside your own limits.

“I thought I could work with you, build something that went beyond N.I.S.A., but clearly I was wrong,” he spat, anger causing his skin to flush. “I hoped we would make a great team, Jensen. This could have done so much for both of us, but you’re clearly not the agent I thought you were. I can’t work with someone who’s going to hold me back. Enjoy your career, _old man_.”

With that final insult, Jared was gone. Jensen had no idea how long he stared beyond the glass walls of his office, but when he finally came back to himself, one thing became terribly clear.

Burrito or no, he was going to be sick.

~~~~~

The unfortunate thing about completing a mission successfully was that Jensen’s bosses wanted to keep the streak going. Cooperation did wonders for their bottom line, apparently. Not that Jensen’s run was bad before the joint op, but after their success with CTI, Sheppard and the higher-ups wanted more.

Jensen was firmly against any such plans, but there was only one way to make sure he never worked with CTI again.

“We have to get intel before CTI does,” Jensen told his team a week after Jared had stormed out of his office. “Any op they might want to pair us up on, we need to get there first.”

Felicia frowned, fingers stalled above her keyboards. “You want us to out-analyze the best analysts in the agency? That’s insane. And I kind of _like_ insane.”

“You’re better,” Jensen assured her. “I’ve seen the amount of intel you and Sebastian can process. You can do anything CTI can do.”

He turned to Danneel. “Harris can work up mission kits and get us better gear as fast as we need. And Tahmoh and I can be out in the field, the one place CTI analysts can’t go. We can do this,” he swore, trying to rally his team.

Tahmoh, he knew, saw through the battle cry, but the rest of the group was too excited about their new objective, so he kept his mouth shut.

No wonder the man was still Jensen’s best friend. He’d spent an entire night telling Tahmoh what happened—not that his agent hadn’t already guessed most of it. How ashamed he was, to think that Jared might want more than simply another commendation in his N.I.S.A. dossier.

It didn’t matter, he’d told Tahmoh. He and Jared were too different. Tahmoh had let him rant uninterrupted, which Jensen had appreciated. That was the night Jensen decided he was going to prove that he could keep up with Jared, work outside those ‘self-imposed limits,’ and become a better agent.

A worthy agent.

~~~~~

Jensen’s plan worked. Except when it didn’t.

Before he knew it, his campaign to out-espionage the CTI branch became a _thing_.

Jensen’s Field Ops unit took a corporate spy into custody before he could sell his valuable information to buyers in Iran. CTI had been monitoring the guy for months, but Felicia locked onto his digital trail before CTI did, and Tahmoh _relieved_ the man of his freedom.

Next op, Sebastian and Danneel had the team hot on the heels of an upstart group of right-wing domestic terrorists, and they were nearly ready to spring their trap. But, when they did, they rolled up to find CTI had already given the same intel to another team, and Jensen’s unit was forced to watch their fellow agents arrest the brothers they’d been after.

That was when people started taking notice.

Field ops rescued a family who was being held hostage by Dutch spies while their son was forced to steal weapons tech from the firm where he worked.

Counterterrorism responded by tracking and apprehending a would-be assassin while Jensen’s unit was stuck babysitting the target.

There were taunts. The teams pushed back against one another. The war of words only made the agents more committed. National pride and domestic security were great and everything, but Jensen wanted to _win_ , dammit.

Seeing Jared only galvanized Jensen’s resolve. He would run into the man coming out of Sheppard’s office, or, more rarely, out in the field. He would look at Jared, and, for a moment, nothing else mattered. Jensen remembered the night they spent together (memories came back to him at the worse moments, honestly), and felt giddy at first. Being with Jared had felt natural, instinctive; he’d pulled, and Jared had pushed, and the result was some of the best sex Jensen could remember.

He’d meet Jared’s eyes in the hallway and open his mouth to say something. But then he remembered the morning after and the horrible realization that it had been the alcohol bringing them together, nothing more. 

After that, Jensen pushed harder, knowing that Jared was out of his reach.

One more successful mission, another victory taken out of CTI’s hands, and then maybe Jared would finally see Jensen’s value.

~~~~~

“A round of beers, please,” Sebastian ordered from Morgan, “and your most reasonable bottle of champagne!”

Morgan scowled. “You think I keep champagne here?”

“Fine, just the beers then. But we’re still celebrating!”

Jensen grinned and accepted his beer from Morgan. Things were uncharacteristically jovial at the Cross & Eagle tonight. Following their last op, the entire team had been awarded with commendations. Sebastian and Tahmoh had each been bumped up a level on the pay scale (Felicia, Danneel, and Jensen had each earned raises after their unit apprehended a pair of Russian double agents before CTI could determine who they were), hence the celebration.

Tahmoh eventually cornered Jensen at the back of the bar where he was watching the Vancouver Whitecaps play on one of the flatscreens.

He sat down beside Jensen and asked, “Are you happy?”

“Hmm?”

“With this whole us-against-them thing,” he said. “Does it make you happy?”

“We’re doing our job,” Jensen evaded the question as if trying to shake a tail. “Of course I’m satisfied.”

Tahmoh smiled. “That’s not what I asked.”

Jensen sighed. “Why does it matter whether I’m happy or not?”

“Because you finally have a nemesis.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jared,” Tahmoh said. “He’s your nemesis.”

“No.” Jensen shook off the idea. “No, he’s not…”

“You told me once that you needed a nemesis in order to be at the top of your game,” Tahmoh reminded him. _Bastard._ “Now you’re there.”

He has a point, however, Jensen didn’t need to confirm it: “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Tahmoh sighed. “Jamie pushes me; he keeps me sharp. I think about what he’d do on an op, then wonder how I could do it better. I know it’s the same for him. He’s not a bad agent because he’s my nemesis. We’re better agents because of it.”

“No. Jared is…” Whether it was the beer or Tahmoh’s logic, Jensen was suddenly confused. Things made sense before Tahmoh sat down. Or, at least, Jensen thought they did. “He wasn’t supposed to be.”

Tahmoh leaned over the table. “Why not?”

And like a subject under heavy interrogation, Jensen cracked.

“Because he could have been more!” Jensen hissed. Just because he was having a revelation, it didn’t mean he wanted everyone in the Cross & Eagle to share in it. “If he’s my nemesis, he can’t be anything else.”

Tahmoh winked. “Says who?”

They sit there, ignored by everyone else in the bar. It gave Jensen time to process what was said, words he wouldn’t have believed had they not come from his own mouth.

Eventually, Tahmoh said, “Sheppard asked me if I wanted my own team.”

Jensen considered knocking himself out using the sticky, wooden table. It’d be less painful than hearing these revelations.

“CTI offered Felicia a job, and Sebastian told me that the Minister of Justice was considering him for a position on his staff. I know for a fact that at least three private firms have tried to poach Harris away from N.I.S.A.”

Jensen groaned and tried to will away his oncoming headache by pressing his fists against his face.

“So, you’re saying my team’s getting ready to abandon me?” He took a glance around the bar. “Oh god, is that why we’re really here? Are you celebrating the end of the team?”

“What?” Tahmoh frowned. “No, Jensen. Come on, don’t be an idiot.”

“You just said—”

“If you’d given me a chance to finish, I could have told you that none of us are going anywhere. You, better than anyone, should know that commendations come with opportunities, but that doesn’t mean we have to take them.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Tahmoh’s smile appeared lopsided and indulgent. Like he knew Jensen was being particularly dense. “We’re already on the best team at N.I.S.A. Why would we want to leave? Our leader is a great agent.”

“Maybe now,” Jensen countered, but Tahmoh shook his head.

“You were a great agent before the first CTI op,” Tahmoh promised. “The rivalry between you and Jared just made it obvious to everyone else.”

Jensen had no words. He masked his speechlessness by finishing the beer in front of him, regretting the hasty decision when his stomach began to turn. Tahmoh looked on, wincing.

“Come on, I’m giving you a ride home.”

“I have Uber,” Jensen grumbled.

“Right,” Tahmoh laughed, signaling to Morgan to close out their tabs. “A drunk secret agent getting all chatty with a mysterious driver. Because _no_ espionage movies have ever started out that way.”

~~~~~

Back at home, Jensen sobered up remarkably quickly.

It was unfortunate.

Without Tahmoh to sort through his revelations, Jensen was forced to deal with everything on his own, and without the aid of another beer or five. (His fridge was empty; Tahmoh had checked.)

He sat in his home office and stared at the wall opposite his computer. Every commendation he’d ever received was framed and hanging there. So many, he was running out of room. Several were recent, products of his fierce feud with the Counterterrorism division.

He was proud of them, but they were all he had. Pieces of paper: physical evidence of the _perfect performance_ about which Jared had accused him of caring too much. It never seemed like a bad thing until Jared used it against him.

That’s how Jensen would end up—he could envision it now. Reaching the end of his career with nothing besides commendations. Alone with his papers.

Sebastian had his girlfriends and his love of non-agency funded adventure. Danneel had her side-projects, the ones N.I.S.A. didn’t know about, and the two dogs she doted on. Felicia had an entire world online, all the friends and faux-enemies she met up with from time to time. Tahmoh had his strict physical routine and apparently something deeper with MI6’s Agent Bamber than Jensen ever realized.

If Jensen stayed on this path, he’d burn out. Or worse.

~~~~~

The Counterterrorism and Intelligence floor really was nicer than Field Ops’, and not just because their computers were state-of-the-art.

Jensen knew their gym was ‘ridiculous,’ according to Tahmoh, although from the looks of most of the agents sitting behind state-of-the-art computers, it had to be rarely used. But they also had tech that none of the other divisions would see for at least six months and a much better break room.

They even had an espresso bar with actual baristas. (Jensen imagined those workers had a higher security clearance than he did.)

None of that mattered, though. Jensen wasn’t here to gawp at CTI’s amenities.

Well, he was only here to gawp at one of them.

He found Jared’s office at the back of the floor and knocked carefully. Through the frosted glass, he could only see the barest shadow of movement, and Jensen resolved to ask Sheppard about the odds of replacing his clear glass walls with whatever this was.

Through the door, he heard: “Can it wait?”

Jensen sighed. “Not really,” he replied, pitching his voice so he wouldn’t disturb the agents who’d glared at his arrival. _Tough room._

He heard a shuffling, then: “Come in.”

After a deep, fortifying breath, Jensen stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. This was private.

The sight that greeted him wasn’t the one Jensen was expecting. Jared looked—well, he kind of looked like crap.

Sitting behind his desk, a mirror of the scene when they met, Jared wasn’t wearing his typical brand of ‘nerd-chic’ blended with ‘colorbind grandfather.’ He was wearing a wrinkled, white button-down shirt, brown tie askew, and his hair, though still messy, lacked Jared’s usual carefree style. Jared looked like a regular, exhausted agent; he looked a little like how Jensen felt.

Jensen had a speech written and memorized. He immediately forgot the entire thing.

“Let me guess,” Jensen said, “you haven’t been sleeping?”

Jared’s grin didn’t make Jensen feel better, but it broke the impassive mask, for which he was grateful.

“You’ve been running us ragged,” Jared says, his tone professional. “The agents here either hate you, or hate me for inflicting you upon them.”

Hence Jensen’s icy reception in CTI.

“So, what are you doing here?” Jared asked. He didn’t stand up or indicate that Jensen should sit. “Is there another op? Or are the bosses calling a ceasefire?”

“No, I am.”

At least that woke Jared out of his stupor, and he met Jensen’s gaze.

It couldn’t be that simple, of course.

“You can’t handle it anymore, huh?” Jared said, misunderstanding. “Under too much pressure from your Deputy Director? Guess I should have seen that coming—things get tough, and suddenly you want to go back to the way things were.”

If Jensen hadn’t recently had his eyes opened, he might not have understood the way Jared was deliberately goading him.

“I never meant for us to become...this,” Jensen told him, stepping up to the desk.

Jared didn’t lean away, but he did respond, “You wanted us to be _professionals_.”

It stung, hearing his own words in that tone.

“I thought you were using me to get ahead.”

Jared ran his fingers through his hair. “Jensen, that’s crazy. You honestly think I’d do that to you? To your team?”

“At some point, I must have,” Jensen admitted. “Maybe it was even before we met. Either way, I’m sorry.”

He tried not to fidget under Jared’s scrutiny. The apology (one of many that Jared deserved) was out there. If Jared wanted to throw him out after this, Jensen would have to deal with it.

“So, what the hell was this rivalry, then?” Jared asked. “I’ve been busting my ass for _weeks_ , trying to keep up, because I thought...well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Jensen hesitated. He thought long and hard about it the night Tahmoh had driven him home. In the end, only one reason had made sense.

“I did it so that we’d still see one another,” Jensen said, remembering how it felt to realize his own motivation. It felt like cowardice and a whole lot of regret. “We’d never even met before that first op, and I don’t think I could face not seeing you again after that, despite—” He couldn’t go there, not yet. “I couldn’t let you forget about me, even after I thought you’d gotten what you came for.”

“What I came for? You mean another commendation?” Jared scoffed. “I have plenty, I don’t care about those. I’ll let you in on a secret, Jensen, I came to Field Ops to work with _you_. That was my only goal.”

Now Jensen was the confused one. “What are you talking about?”

“I’d heard a lot about you, and when the opportunity came up to work with another team, I picked yours.”

“You weren’t assigned to us?”

Jared shook his head, the barest hint of amusement in his expression.

“I thought...” Jensen searched for a response, but had none.

“Working with you was better than I thought it’d be. Then the op ended, and we went out to celebrate…”

He trailed off, and Jensen had a feeling he knew exactly where Jared’s thoughts went. 

“Everything changed after that,” Jared finished, and his smile isn’t the comfortable kind.

“I didn’t want to hear how you pitied me,” Jensen said, “so I didn’t let you get that far.”

“Pity?” Jared stood, and Jensen noticed how the shirt and trousers were so ill-suited to the analyst. That, and the fact that Jared seemed thinner. “That’s what you thought I felt? I didn’t pity you, Jensen. I liked you!” 

“Can’t imagine why,” Jensen grumbled, though his embarrassment was mitigated by the fact that Jared kept stepping closer.

“I can’t remember everything that happened that night,” Jared said, now on the same side of the desk as Jensen, “but I remember that pity had nothing to do with it.”

Jensen flushed red. By now, Jared was in his space.

“I mean, some of the things you said to me.” Jared whistled.

“I can’t believe this.” Jensen hung his head, nearly brushing Jared’s chest.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” His hand came up to Jensen’s shoulder. “That’s awful, ‘cause it was fucking amazing.”

“Even with an old man?” Jensen joked, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You were anything but a grump in the sack.”

When Jensen looked up, Jared was grinning. It was the kind of grin that made it impossible for Jensen not to kiss him.

“You’re gonna remember everything this time,” Jared whispered, lips hovering over Jensen’s. “I promise.”

~~~~~

Jensen desperately needed an office with obscured glass. They were phenomenal. He figured he could trade on all those commendations, earn himself something really useful.

Until then, they could take advantage of Jared’s N.I.S.A. accommodations. Frosted glass made it so that no one else could see Jared down on his knees between Jensen’s legs where he sat on the office’s couch. Teasing around the base of Jensen’s cock as if they had all the time in the world when, not five minutes ago, Jared had swept Jensen up in a whirlwind of intense foreplay. 

He’d revved Jensen up as if he knew exactly what Jensen liked. Hell, he probably did. (There were distinct advantages to having a metabolism almost a decade younger.)

They’d stumble-walked to the sofa as they kissed, Jensen pushing Jared until they hit the cushions and lost their balance. The kiss never broke as they tumbled over, the movements of Jared’s tongue rewriting themselves into Jensen’s sense memory. Jensen blindly groped for Jared’s shirt, wanting to rid him of the hideously tailored ensemble, but it was Jared who had succeeded first, whipping Jensen’s tie out from under his collar with a soft _hiss_ of silk against cotton, his deft fingers liberating buttons from their holes.

Jensen had laid sprawled against the back of the sofa, shirt undone, with Jared leaning over him. He’d tried to keep their mouths aligned—kissing Jared while sober was an experience he wasn’t ready to give up—but Jared had other plans. That wet, playful mouth had traveled down, down. Past Jensen’s throat and traversing his collarbone. Then down again until his lips were circling one of Jensen’s nipples.

“Remember this?” Jared had taunted, tongue flicking out but denying contact. “Discovered this by accident, that night.”

Jensen wanted those memories back, all that knowledge and pleasure. That the rum had burned holes in his memory infuriated Jensen now that he was here with Jared. When they were battling one another from afar, those gaps had seemed like mercy.

“You were so sensitive, I couldn’t believe it.” Jared’s mouth had finally descended, nipping, sucking, and soothing in turns until Jensen was a babbling mess. He’d switched to the other nipple after Jensen pleaded with him.

“You begged then, too. We had plenty of time that night, so I took you apart.” He’d smirked against Jensen’s chest—a sight to behold when Jensen glanced down. “Don’t worry, you returned the favor.”

They didn’t have the luxury of time right now, however. Someone was bound to come looking for either of them. 

After that, Jared had targeted Jensen’s lower stomach, teeth grazing as he sank to his knees. His stomach was a weakness about which few knew, knowledge his former lovers had to earn and yet rarely exploited. Jared had no such qualms, obviously, and Jensen was desperate for some intel of his own.

Jared had made short work of his belt, button, and zipper, licking his lips when his target was acquired.

“Never got the chance to do this,” Jared said as Jensen helped him pull out his swelling cock. Hearing it made Jensen feel better—this was just for him, now, and he’d remember everything.

Abandoning his teasing, Jared sucked Jensen down, but only the first inch. Jensen wanted to pull him further, to take what he needed, except that Jared was doing more with a single _inch_ than past lovers had done with his entire cock over multiple encounters.

One inch felt the sweep of Jared’s tongue and the suction between his cheeks. The head of his cock was treated like the most decadent sweet, lavished over and savored. Slowly, so fucking slowly, his head dropped lower, lips sliding along the shaft, completely unaffected by Jensen’s incoherent begging. 

This was all so new, yet there was a possessiveness to Jared’s touch that Jensen found thrilling. Ignoring everything else, they were still employed as spies, and their lives were in jeopardy far more often than the average Canadian citizen’s. It didn’t bother Jensen to know that Jared was staking his claim so early; Jensen didn’t want to waste any more time, either.

Jensen gave into his urge to set his hands on Jared: one on his shoulder and one around the back of his neck. Loose, not intending to force, but he didn’t need to worry. Jared rolled naturally with the motion of Jensen’s hips, as if there was nothing he enjoyed more. The entire blowjob was so suited to Jensen’s needs—it was no wonder Jared made a career out of knowing things before anyone else. Jensen could just as easily get off on the groans he can hear, _feel_ coming out of Jared’s throat and vibrating around his dick, as he could on the friction of Jared’s tongue up and down the underside of his shaft.

He didn’t have to choose, fortunately. Jared came up panting, crawling up over Jensen like a predator locked onto its next meal. His mouth tasted like skin and sweat when it met Jensen’s, but it was still delicious and one of the hottest things Jensen had ever experienced: that a man had needed to tear himself away from Jensen’s cock before he lost control.

Their tongues battled, and it was infinitely more satisfying than their mission-based feud. Jared’s youth made him more passionate than any lover he could remember; Jensen could find all sorts of uses for that kind of passion, later.

As they kissed, Jensen fought with the buttons on Jared’s shirt, intent on filling the gaps in his memory. When he finally pushed the shirt over Jared’s shoulders, he looked his fill. All that lean muscle (he clearly made use of CTI’s advanced gym facilities), with just the faintest dusting of hair that would no doubt thicken as Jared aged. He would probably fill out more, too, but Jensen imagined his hips remaining narrow so they’d always fit perfectly in Jensen’s grip.

Jensen didn’t know where to focus his efforts. Kissing Jared felt better than anything else had in a long time, but there was so much tanned skin to explore. He could save that for later, given the insistent way Jared’s hips were rocking against his own. It had been well over a month since Jensen had the pleasure, and he was getting impatient.

All he needed to do was undo Jared’s pants and pull out his cock, no time to savor the sight. They were rutting into one another, nothing but precome and spit to ease the friction. Jensen could live with being a little chafed later on, because there was no stopping. Their knuckles bumped and fingers fumbled as they each tried to jerk the other off, finally settling into a rhythm with Jensen’s hand around Jared’s larger one.

Feeling his cock against Jared’s was almost enough to put Jensen over the edge, but he held out long enough to enjoy the heat of Jared’s palm around him, stroking and twisting. Then it was over, their foreheads touching as they both looked down to watch Jensen come first, Jared finishing himself off quickly as Jensen’s hips stuttered.

He wanted to say something profound, but when Jared looked at him with a satisfied smile, Jensen knew words didn’t matter. He’d used enough of them trying to win this back.

Jared didn’t care about being profound, of course. “Office sex will definitely be repeated,” he said between deep breaths.

Jensen could only smile back in agreement, happy to stay here as long as he could. The moment he walked out Jared’s door, they’d have the rest of N.I.S.A. to deal with and a sudden truce to explain.

~~~~~

“Can I still be your nemesis?”

Though nearly too exhausted to move, Jensen reached over and smacked Jared’s bare chest. They were both naked and lying in the tangled sheets on Jensen’s bed, having spent the better part of the evening making up for lost time.

Jensen had returned to his own office and faced his team with the feel of Jared still on his skin. They knew where he’d been, of course—they weren’t spies for nothing. Sebastian had looked proud, Tahmoh and Felicia were grinning happily, and Danneel had seemed only mildly disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to use her own scheme to bring Jared and Jensen back together. Jensen figured hers would have involved a hostage situation. Or explosives. Probably both.

When Jared had come to his office to collect him for the night—they’d made plans in between kissing and helping one another back into their clothes—Jensen was only too happy to get out of there.

Back at home over takeout, Jensen had spilled his story. From the ridiculous idea that he needed a nemesis, to Tahmoh fulfilling his duties as best friend and telling Jensen that he’d fucked up.

Jared had taken it all remarkably well, and then proceeded to drag Jensen into his bedroom where they spent the rest of their evening attempting to make each other crazy with pleasure. Jensen finally had the chance to suck Jared’s cock (and _remember_ it, this time) while pinning those wild hips to his bed with his hands. Jensen vowed to kiss the bruises he’d no doubt find there tomorrow morning.

Despite his rather spectacular orgasm, Jared still had the energy to flip their positions and finger Jensen until he was writhing, body begging for something he knew he wouldn’t get that night. Jared had kissed him between each dirty plea, every one as good as a promise they’d all be fulfilled.

Jensen sighed as Jared rolled a little closer. “I told you, I only thought I needed a nemesis. Turns out I was already an _amazing_ agent, right?”

“You’ve got me anyway,” Jared said. “I didn’t want a mentor or an adversary. I just wanted you.”

Once again, Jensen couldn’t help kissing him. It could lead to problems in the future if Jared insisted on being so damn kissable all the time. They rolled together, Jensen caressing the soft pillow of Jared’s bottom lip with his tongue, body trying in vain to muster the strength for one more round.

It didn’t come, of course. Three orgasms in one day, plus weeks of pushing their teams to the limits, took its toll. Jensen didn’t mind, not really. He was perfectly content to curl around Jared’s back in the middle of his bed and savor the moment.

“Seriously though,” Jared mumbled, angling his head back so he could look at Jensen. “I’d be a good one.”

He was right. It was something Jensen had thought about in his office while he waited for the day to end. Jared had everything he wanted in a nemesis: he was smart (brilliant, actually), clever (just look at the ways he’d managed to out maneuver Jensen’s team), and, at times, his mouth could do some unspeakably despicable things to Jensen.

He was perfect. Above all, he was worthy. 

Fortunately for Jensen, Jared was also everything he wanted in a partner. He was beginning to see that perhaps the two weren’t mutually exclusive.

He tightened his hold and brought his lips to Jared’s ear.

“But I wouldn’t want you to be good _all_ the time…”

 

FIN.

~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARLING ♥


End file.
